Sunday, April 21, 2013
Friday, April 5, 2013
Gobelins
HORDED
Maera lives as an outcast by choice. Guilt-ridden over her
past, she hopes only for the punishment she deserves. But when a gobelin
warrior steps out of thin air to claim her, Maera is torn between the debt she
owes her people, and the selfish yearnings of her own heart.
Tal is the lowest gobelin, the cursed brother of the horde’s
greatest warrior. When he stumbles onto a legendary castle, however, he
believes his luck is about to change.
But the horde’s enemies have found the thing as well, and Tal’s brother
breaks gobelin law to chase a human who is more trouble than she’s worth.
Now Tal and Maera are the only ones who can save his
brother, the one person they both love and the only thing they can agree on. If
they fail, the horde will never believe them, and the castle of prophecy will
fall into enemy hands. If they succeed, they’ll have to stand together against
the full fury of the gobelin horde…
COMING APRIL 10
Author Adriane Ceallaigh was a beta reader for Horded, and she's posted a really wonderful tribute to the book on her blog here:
Okay, it's not just about Horded, but she's been an awesome friend, a great fan of Kingdoms Gone and a wonderful support to me along the way. I can't express how tickled I am that she loved this book.
She is my Gobelin champion! And now, I'm about to introduce the elves...a unicorn, and even more imps in book Three, Forgotten.
Back to they keyboard!
~ Frances
Monday, February 25, 2013
Launch!
It's officially live now. Kingdoms Gone, Unlikely is up and available at Amazon and Createspace. Thanks to everyone who supported getting the first step out the door.
~Frances
And next up...
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Thursday, May 24, 2012
In the event that something remains...
How does a man know what is to come of endings? I write these words on the eve of one, amidst the rubble and the aftermath of the Final War. Yet still, even when all things worth saving have long since perished, when all one's efforts have refused to bear fruit, when hope has died, the mind still looks onward. The eye turns inevitably toward the future.
Even when it doubts that one might exist.
We stood for a time in grandeur. We knew the glory of the Kingdoms unified, powerful, opulent, destined to fall. My people witnessed the failure of all that we helped to create. We watched as the nobility split and argued. We saw the birth of this Final War and were vain enough to think that we could save it, that magic could stop anything. All of us fools. Fate and the Powers taught us that lesson, and with more than our share of devastation riding on their backs. Perhaps our fair share, after all.
Nothing of us remains, and yet, something lives still. In the shadow of the great Houses, ordinary man will suffer the least. He, I suspect, will continue his drudgery. Perhaps for a moment, he will cheer, celebrate the fall of the pompous rulers who wasted a whole world to solve their differences. Perhaps that common man will cheer the loss of magic as well. He'll raise a glass to our passing, laugh as the Gentry fade back into their pocket worlds, taking the last of power with them. For a time, I think, this must be the case.
But even he will feel the loss in time. Even Everyman will suffer. For who will make the waters flow clean when we are gone? Who will keep the walls sturdy, the streets safe? Who will rule--and make no mistake, someone shall--this broken world?
Perhaps my fate is kindest then, I who die in the fallen stones of a once great palace. The last of my kind. My magic has long since fled, stolen back by the very Powers who gave it. My steel was never worthy, and only my words are left to me. You who read them, if eyes still exist that can do as much, know this...
Whatever you have learned, what stories they have told, what whispers have survived, all begin with a lie. The last act of an unrepentant Nobility is always the lie, and war--any war--is born in only one way...through evil deeds.
And so, if you sing songs at all in the world you make upon our ashes, sing them to trust nothing, believe no one, and hold in truth only that which you witness with your own eyes.
And, perhaps, the kingdoms gone are better left forgotten.
Mastral Werdewell
First Mage, and poor counsel, to
King Leopold the Liar
Even when it doubts that one might exist.
We stood for a time in grandeur. We knew the glory of the Kingdoms unified, powerful, opulent, destined to fall. My people witnessed the failure of all that we helped to create. We watched as the nobility split and argued. We saw the birth of this Final War and were vain enough to think that we could save it, that magic could stop anything. All of us fools. Fate and the Powers taught us that lesson, and with more than our share of devastation riding on their backs. Perhaps our fair share, after all.
Nothing of us remains, and yet, something lives still. In the shadow of the great Houses, ordinary man will suffer the least. He, I suspect, will continue his drudgery. Perhaps for a moment, he will cheer, celebrate the fall of the pompous rulers who wasted a whole world to solve their differences. Perhaps that common man will cheer the loss of magic as well. He'll raise a glass to our passing, laugh as the Gentry fade back into their pocket worlds, taking the last of power with them. For a time, I think, this must be the case.
But even he will feel the loss in time. Even Everyman will suffer. For who will make the waters flow clean when we are gone? Who will keep the walls sturdy, the streets safe? Who will rule--and make no mistake, someone shall--this broken world?
Perhaps my fate is kindest then, I who die in the fallen stones of a once great palace. The last of my kind. My magic has long since fled, stolen back by the very Powers who gave it. My steel was never worthy, and only my words are left to me. You who read them, if eyes still exist that can do as much, know this...
Whatever you have learned, what stories they have told, what whispers have survived, all begin with a lie. The last act of an unrepentant Nobility is always the lie, and war--any war--is born in only one way...through evil deeds.
And so, if you sing songs at all in the world you make upon our ashes, sing them to trust nothing, believe no one, and hold in truth only that which you witness with your own eyes.
And, perhaps, the kingdoms gone are better left forgotten.
Mastral Werdewell
First Mage, and poor counsel, to
King Leopold the Liar
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)